


to every wishing well that's deep enough to drink

by ElasticElla



Series: fate's broken circle [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Clary Fray-centric, Downworlder Politics, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: When the Seelie Queen decides to steal a young Clary, it reshapes the future even more than she dared hope.





	to every wishing well that's deep enough to drink

**Author's Note:**

> when i say alternate canon i really mean it bbs, strap in  
> and as always, clary really isn't a reliable narrator so uh yeah
> 
> title from blue october's sound of pulling heaven down with dream switched to drink, the whole song fits this fic tho  
> talk/complain/shower me with attention @ [tumblr](http://lesbiancleophas.tumblr.com)

It is a simple thing to steal a child. To shorten their name, to put a mundane babe in their crib. The replacement is watched at a distance, and when a demon comes for it, the watcher is no longer needed. 

Clary Fray, Clarissa Morgenstern is dead. 

Long live Lysa. 

.

Once her blood was destined to become a chosen one. One that spoke to angels and wielded their blades. One that would doubtless do them or their brethren no help. 

Even little Lysa knows the Seelie Queen always plays for keeps. 

.

Lysa grows up slowly in the seelie realm. Time passes differently, and it feels as though nearly a century has passed before she is a teenager. From a distance she appears fae herself, hair often decorated with purple blooms and butterflies in her wake. Her handle of natural magic is shaky- she was only given six drops of seelie blood as a child. But even as a babe, she’d been able to call the forest’s creatures to her. 

When she reaches fourteen true years of age, Kaelie begins teaching her how to fight. Kaelie tells her once she’s good she’ll train with her older brother Samuel, but Lysa likes Kaelie’s teaching methods. They use young birch sticks instead of swords, and Lysa is often blindfolded to keep her other senses sharp. ‘A true Seelie Knight can defeat any foe in the darkest of nights, weaponless and alone,’ Kaelie would recite. 

Lysa asked once, if Kaelie was training her to be a Seelie Knight too then. Kaelie didn’t answer her, correcting her footwork. But that was more than enough answer- those with full fae blood couldn’t outright lie, and Lysa had long learned how to listen to silences and pauses. 

She doesn’t know why the Queen insisted on her getting full lessons from nearly every seelie of her realm, but Lysa’s learned better than to ask what she really wants to know. Waiting is easier, will give her a truer answer. 

.

Clary has lost count of moon faces and changings of the seasons when the Seelie Queen declares her proficient. It’s higher praise than she expected- Lysa knows how her human blood often works against her. She tries not to be jealous of Kaelie’s exquisite footwork, or Samuel’s high leaps, or Adriana’s perfect memory, or the Queen’s ease of transformation; she could train her entire life and never accomplish such things. 

Today though, there is a new face at court. He looks at her, curious. But it isn’t the cold curiosity some of the elders have, for they are only interested in how she can possibly help the fae enough to offset her adoption. (It’s a question she’s had more than once, was foolish enough to ask the Queen when she was little. She laughed and said she’d tell Lysa one day.)

“The time has come for your final training. For the humans, you are of age. Meliorn will take you to their realm and teach you all you need to know.” 

Lysa’s eyes go wide, can’t help but saying, “I’m not staying there right?” 

There’s a tittering from the corner of elders that don’t care for her, and Lysa can feel her ears flush. Sometimes it feels like no matter how long she lives here, her tongue will never cooperate with her mind.

The Queen’s lips curl up into a smile, “You will return to me one day, when all is well.”

Meliorn steps forward, “We must go before the humans’ dawn.”

Lysa waits until they’re out of range from the court before she asks, “Why does it matter what time we arrive? Doesn’t distortion magic work in the mundane world?” 

“It does.” 

Her eyebrows come together, and then the obvious answer slams into her. “Is this realm often so perilous that it needs you to keep all magic on reserve?” 

His lips twist, “No.” 

She looks him over again- but he doesn’t _look_ like a seelie stripped of their magic. Moreover, magic-stripping usually occurs with a banishment, which he clearly isn’t. 

“Do you recognize my sire’s mark?” he asks. 

The green leaf is distinctive enough, and Adriana will be disappointed in her for failing her lessons so quickly. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t learn the marks as well as I thought I did.” 

Meliorn isn’t surprised at her response though, a bitter smile on his lips. “Adriana never got along with my father, believed he joined our realm far too late.” 

An unseelie, Lysa almost voices. But that wouldn’t explain the magic, and the answer makes her feel a fool once more. “Your father is human?” 

“Was.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“A mundane sentiment.” 

“You did just say he was human.” 

Meliorn exhales, “Indeed. As a halfblood my magic is strong with manipulating nature but not living beings. And as with all seelies, it is weaker in mortal realms.” 

The fickle nature of fae magic will never cease to be fascinating to Lysa- nor annoying when she’s in a less charitable mood. They make it to the river portal then, excitement bubbling in her gut. She doesn’t remember anything from her home world, is so very curious to discover it. 

.

Lysa _hates_ this realm. She’s always been tentatively grateful that the faeries took her, but after a day in New York, she wouldn’t wish living here on her worst enemies. (Not that her worst enemies are particularly dramatic nor bad, more disapproving but still.)

The city is loud, it smells bad, and there’s so little nature that Lysa feels a sense has been removed. Back home she couldn’t wander through the forest without deer or bees or butterflies coming to say hello. Here, there’s ugly buildings and smoke everywhere, and the few trees look sickly- too thin and bent at unnatural angles. 

Meliorn’s home is better and worse than she expected. The tent at least feels like home- airy and open to a park. But it’s devoid of any animals within, and Lysa bites her tongue- can’t alienate her new teacher so soon. 

After a day of independent exploring, her one directive to blend in and not be noticed, Lysa sits before Meliorn. He pours them each a cup of tea, the movements practiced but rusty. 

“What are you to teach me?” Lysa asks. 

“What have you learned before?” Meliorn counters. 

“Fighting from Kaelie and Sam, disguises and airs from the Queen, history and tradition from Adriana, basic maths from-”

Meliorn holds up a hand, “Let me rephrase, what have you not learned?” 

Lysa swirls her tea, thinking as she looks around the bare tent. It feels neutral- not for her, but for one of any other species. And Meliorn living here must mean he’s a negotiator and diplomat, able to talk to any of the other downworlders or shadowhunters for the Queen. 

“But I’m not even- I have six drops of fae blood. She can’t intend me to be a speaker.” 

“True. But you’re to listen and act only as a last resort.” 

Lysa swallows, “How long?” 

“Ten years,” he says.

It’s blessedly shorter than she expected, and she reminds herself time goes quick in this world. 

“You can lie,” Lysa remembers, “that’s why she wants me.” 

Meliorn’s smile is sharp, “The Queen said you’d be good at this.” 

Lysa preens at her praise, and they begin her first lesson. 

.

It doesn’t take long to learn that Meliorn isn’t like any of her previous teachers. There’s the fact that living in this realm seems to have made his tongue looser- more likely to spin a pretty web of words than withhold answers. And then, that he isn’t really teaching her- the city is. 

He sends her to vampire bars, and werewolf restaurants, and warlock shops- has her survey and report back. Her hair is darkened to a less noticeable brunette when she goes out, paired with shapeless clothes, and eyes slide right over her. For the shadowhunters, he doesn’t send her yet- says it isn’t time. 

A few weeks pass and Lysa has settled into her new life. It’s still less than before, but at least raccoons and squirrels and chipmunks visit her at night, curl up on her bed. (Meliorn implied the animals didn’t stay due to certain downworlder visitors he hosts, but Lysa thinks there’s more to it.)

Meliorn is making tea, much like he did the first day she came here. They haven’t had tea since, Meliorn not seeing a point to elongating her reports when she can get her ears back out into the world. Another half-truth, but Lysa isn’t curious about this one, is fairly certain it ends with one of the nightly visitors Lysa has to avoid. (What use is there in a spy known?)

“You are the daughter of Valentine Morgenstern.” 

Lysa carefully puts the shaking teacup down, fists her hands in her lap. She’d always known if the infamous shadowhunter showed up again he’d need to be killed. But the sudden sense of obligation, that she should slit his throat, thrums in her veins. Family that harms must be removed- it’s one of the basic truths Lysa has known since she began training with Kaelie. The third of eleven tenets of the Seelie Knights. 

“How could she take me in?” Lysa asks. “After all he did.” 

Meliorn sips his tea slowly, “How could the Queen not?” 

Lysa voices her confusion, has learned Meliorn would rather hear more than less words- truly an odd seelie. (It makes sense for dealing with enemies and allies, but of blood?)

“The Queen can’t expect me to be a good bargaining chip or threat, the man is utterly immoral.” 

Meliorn waits. 

“But the lessons. Am I to spy from within the Circle if it exists still? Wouldn’t it be better to just kill Valentine?” 

Meliorn snorts, “Your thoughts wind upriver. You were taken so you wouldn’t be groomed by Valentine. It is luck that you have a spy’s control.” 

“But not disposition,” Lysa can’t help tease. 

“It will help you from being discovered. As long as you don’t fall on old behaviors, none will ever think you are one of us.” 

“The shadowhunters will know who I am?” 

“They will not believe, they will test you. All you are to tell them is that you felt drawn here, as most in positions of power, shadowhunters love feeling as though fate is on their side.”

“Fools,” Lysa mutters, and Meliorn smiles. 

“Finish your tea, you pick an apartment today.” 

.

Finding the right apartment takes a few days longer than expected- Lysa insists on living on a ground floor for animal visitors, and she needs to be close to the seelie portal but not suspiciously close. In the end she has her ground floor apartment, tragically with no door directly to outside though there are a few sizable windows. Which of course have bars over them because nothing can be wholly positive in New York, but at least her smaller friends can come and go as they please. 

Meliorn comes once to the apartment, informing her he won’t be returning to it. It would be too suspect, but he does need to know where precisely it is. 

“Have you decided how you will implant yourself?” Meliorn asks. 

“I need to stay an outsider, a not-quite mundane,” Lysa says. “I want to be invited to as many places as possible. The more people that trust me, or at least talk to me, the fuller picture I’ll have.” 

“Good.” 

“Which group is most important? If I must pick a side?” 

“Anyone but the shadowhunters.”

Lysa’s eyebrows pop, “Should I even make my lineage known then?” 

“It will help more than you think,” Meliorn says. 

Lysa recognizes the tone with an internal sigh- she won’t be getting any more details out of him about this.

.

Clary Jenson dresses like a fool. 

The face in the mirror frowns, and she dabs on a little more lipgloss. It’s a sugar cherry, but not even that sweetness can help her mood. While she can fight in heels- Kaelie insisted on it in her training- she’s far more effective in flats. And tight clothing means fewer concealed weapons. Her hair is back to its natural hue, a too bright and memorable red-orange. All in all she looks like someone not quite equipped to go on a stroll, much less to a crowded nightclub full of potential allies and assassins. Not that she’s important enough to murder, not yet. 

With one last pat to the ginger cat who stayed the night and most of the day, Clary heads out into the night. Pandemonium is a twenty minute walk away, and the brisk air helps clear her head. There’s nerves jittering along her arms- what if she failed, what if she was discovered, what if the Queen banished her- her heart racing faster with each thought. 

A deep breath and Lysa reminds herself who she is, clinging to her true name. She is Lysa Fireblessed, she will succeed even if this night is a total failure. She’s only dealing with shadowhunters and other downworlders and maybe a random mundane- and everyone knows seelies are the most cunning of all. If she must, she will burn this entire realm to the ground to bring her Queen satisfaction. 

With her head held high, she enters Pandemonium. 

It’s _loud_. It isn’t necessarily the bad type of loud like outside, but Lysa desperately needs a drink to deal with the rhythmic pounding in her ears. She passes tables full of sirens, vampires, warlocks, and a surprising amount of mundanes. Jostled a few times on her way over, she’s sure her ears are burning by the time she’s in sight of the bar. She narrowly avoids collision with a drunk werewolf, a bit of their strawberry daiquiri hitting her shoes. 

“Have we met before?” a mundane asks her, and she tries not to think too loudly that a faerie would never ask such a ridiculous question. 

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He asks with a lascivious grin. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in my dreams.” 

Lysa rolls her eyes, missing her blending in get-up. “No.” 

“Whatever,” he says, walking away to find another girl. “Bitch.” 

She might hope a vampire finds him because she’s petty like that. Lysa finally gets to the bar, another five minutes passing before she can place her order. Her anger crests when the bartender asks for an id. 

“I’ve lived for centuries without needing some _mundane_ proof.” 

It’s a bad comment to make. She’s knows it the minute it passes her lips- she’s _Clary_ right now. But the bartender shrugs it off and is making her drink, and no one approaches her over the little spat. She wonders if it’s fairly typical of out-of-town downworlders. Surely most of their clubs don’t ask for such silly things. There’s a frowning man in the corner, but she doesn’t see him, too relieved that the club’s owner isn’t near her. She supposes she could play it off as a joke to drink while underage but it’d be likely to raise uncomfortable questions. And the last person she wants suspicious is Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

Clary takes her rum and coke to a corner table. There’s a few people alone over here, and she wants to see if anyone worthwhile approaches before hitting the dance floor. She isn’t very good at mundane dancing, but she supposes it will look close enough to a young drunk girl. Clary sips her drink happily, it’s a little too sharp and bubbly, but it vaguely reminds her of a nectar back home. 

At the end of her drink, no one has joined her, but she has spotted Magnus Bane, a wave of tightly contained power that makes her shiver. She makes her way over, ambling about as though she’s curious about the different rooms. Lysa already knows the best three exit routes, but Clary is naive and young. She’s watching a few _very_ flexible poledancers up on stage when the warlock catches up to her. 

“Jocelyn,” he breathes, “how are you-”

She turns to him, apologetic and sure to keep any victorious feelings off her face. Meliorn said she looked like her late mother, but seelies didn’t always view similarities as others did. 

“I’m sorry, my name’s Clary.” 

“The fault is mine, you look like someone I once knew. If it isn’t too bold, what is your family name? Perhaps there is some relation.” 

“That is too bold. At the very least I need a new drink and your name first.” 

He laughs, whisks them away to a booth and magics up two martinis. “I am the fabulous, the ever-lasting Magnus Bane.” 

She clinks his glass, “Clary Jenson. I don’t know about relations, I’m adopted.”

“Ah. And what brings you to this fine establishment tonight?”

“Curiosity,” Clary says with a smile- the best lies are not lies at all. “Back home there wasn’t anything like this.”

“And where-” Magnus stops suddenly, standing. “I apologize there’s a disruption I must see to. Until next time.” 

Magnus crosses the club swiftly, heading into the vip section and Lysa is content. She made her introduction, had a minor mishap that shouldn’t come to anyone’s attention, and can move on to the next place. One of the people speaking to Magnus has runes, and Lysa leaves immediately- isn’t quite ready to meet the shadowhunters yet. 

She spends the rest of her evening at the Hunter’s Moon, flirting with a pretty bartender and getting tips for fun places to explore in New York. Lysa thinks most of the places sound awful- overcrowded, full of caged animals, or too focused around ugly architecture- but Clary smiles and nods.

Maia Roberts: newly turned gorgeous werewolf, connections to many downworlders due to bartending, probable ally. 

.

This time they’re meeting in a botanical garden. It was a bit out of the city, but the pretty flowers are worth it. They don’t measure up to anything in the seelie realm of course, but they’re far prettier than anything else she’s seen on earth. 

“Tell me about the werewolves,” Meliorn says. 

“Theo is the current alpha. He won’t last long, he doesn’t have a head for strategy. His second, Alaric might, but he doesn’t help him. I don’t think he wants to lead though, it’s odd.” 

“How so?” 

Lysa’s lips come together and she sits at the nearby fountain, fingertips skimming the cool water. “He doesn’t help anyone challenge Theo, but he clearly disagrees with many of his actions. I don’t think it’s because he’s a coward, there’s something else.” 

“Think on it more alone.” 

“You know,” she accuses. 

Meliorn smiles, “If you were to seduce one for information, who would it be?” 

“Maia,” Lysa says instantly. 

“The beautiful one? A risky move.” 

“She’s new but she has good instincts, I’m sure she knows her pack entirely.” 

“That makes one of you,” he teases. “Maia is dating Gretel, exclusively I might add.” 

Lysa rolls her eyes, she’d gotten that impression before and might have been hoping it wasn’t true. “Simon then. He’s half and half, he probably feels excluded from the pack and the coven. Better still, he looks like he can’t keep a secret to save his life.” 

“He’s your first assignment. There is no time limit- he’s immortal. It’s far better to succeed slowly than get a burst of information and then nothing.” 

Clary nods. 

“Good,” Meliorn says. “Be careful, being such a rarity the Queen will want him for herself one day.” 

Clary blinks, “Okay?” 

“Don’t break his heart.” 

.

Clary gives it a few days before she returns to Pandemonium. She hasn’t returned to Hunter’s Moon either, needs to finish thinking through how to seduce someone. It’s a new thing for her, and there is no do-over if she fails. So instead she goes through Maia’s list doing very public and boring and human things. (She _supposes_ the view at the top of the Statue of Liberty is nice, but only because of the water.)

Upon arriving at the club she isn’t expecting to find a portal open, a couple of warlocks entering it as Magnus argues with a few shadowhunters. Lysa idly wonders if they’re the same ones from before, if she should leave, when Magnus spots her. 

“Miss Jenson, come, we have much to discuss on the other side.” 

“Okay,” she says.

Clary walks up to the portal, biting her lip. There is a bit of true nervousness in the gesture, she’s only ever used permanent realm portals, never a temporary one. 

“Just walk through and you’ll be at my lair,” Magnus says. 

“Wait a minute, is she-” the blonde one starts and Lysa leaves before they can stop her. 

Lysa is expecting a gorgeous if filled with over the top opulence lair. Instead she arrives in a torn up room, bodies and fighting everywhere. She blames the surprise for her next mistakes (Kaelie would never accept such a weak excuse). 

There’s a young warlock child and a shadowhunter, circle member she adds seeing his rune. His blade is out, and Lysa plants herself in front of the child before remembering that Clary has no combat skills. 

He begins to laugh, and Lysa throws a knife at his throat before he can strike. It hits two inches low- once again, Kaelie would _not_ be pleased- and his body falls. 

She turns to the young warlock, kneeling to meet her eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“My nana- where she go?”

Clary swallows, “I’m not sure-”

Magnus comes through then, the three shadowhunters following and he closes the portal behind them. 

“Valentine has a message for you!” A man yells, attacking Magnus. The four fight the remaining circle members, and Clary keeps the young warlock away from the action. They speak softly, Lysa’s eyes documenting every move to make sure neither of them are in any danger. 

She learns the young warlock’s name is Madzie, loves chocolate, and is worried about her nana Iris. Lysa’s worried Iris will turn out to be one of the bodies, uses the battle as an excuse not to check. (It’s even true- there could be other circle members lying in wait in the other rooms.)

Magnus and the shadowhunters do a lap of the apartment once they’re finished. There’s a few distant gurgles and Lysa asks Madzie about her pet crow. Madzie’s brightens up a bit, is talking about Watt’s favorite snacks, when the lair lifts up and travels to a new location. It’s far worse than the temporary portal, and Lysa has to close her eyes to not be sick. 

Madzie giggles at her expression, “You never been in a flying home?” 

“First time,” she says, queasy but glad they landed so quickly. “Let’s go ask Magnus if he’s seen your nana.” 

Madzie obviously knows her way around the lair, bringing them to a large living room. 

“Nana!” she yells, running over to a redheaded woman. 

Relief washes over her and Magnus is at her shoulder. “We were lucky, none of ours died and the only serious injury, Elias, is being healed. Drink?” 

“Please,” she says as he pours them each a martini. 

He goes to hand her the drink, taking it back suddenly, “How old are you?”

It’s a fair question, one that Lysa doesn’t actually have an answer for. She’s lost count of her age through experience, and she’s never known how to tell her body’s age. Lysa probably should have asked someone her birthday.

“Old enough,” she says, and he lets her have it. 

“I believe you are Valentine’s daughter,” he says, and Clary spills, gin dribbling down her chin. She hurriedly wipes it off, eyes wide. 

“Your world’s version of Hitler? I think you have the wrong girl.” 

“Good you know who he is.” 

“Um I don’t have any of the magic tattoos or whatever, so I don’t think-” 

“Runes,” the blond shadowhunter interrupts them, joining with the two others. “Shadowhunters aren’t born with runes, we apply them.” 

Clary raises an eyebrow at the idea of willingly covering herself with such hideous marks, “I still don’t think-”

“Here,” the girl interrupts, “just hold this and we’ll know.” 

She hands her a knife, glowing blade to herself. And as Clary grabs it, the light goes out and it collapses. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m Isabelle.”

“Clary.”

“To be sure I want to do a spell,” Magnus says. “That Valentine came out of hiding right after you showed up is odd and you do look like his late wife.” 

“Nothing invasive?” Clary asks. 

“I’ll only need to touch your palm.” 

“Okay,” Clary agrees. 

Magnus’s fingers rest on one palm, the other hand doing intricate motions in the air that produce indigo sparks. 

Finally two ovals appear, a woman and a man, their names clearly written below their images: _Jocelyn Fairchild & Valentine Morgenstern_. 

“It’s true,” the girl whispers surprised and Clary doesn’t say a thing. 

Magnus breaks the connection, images fading away. 

“We have to take you to the Clave,” the tall one says. 

Her eyebrows come together, “I’m not a shadowhunter.” 

Magnus nods, “She isn’t. Valentine clearly experimented on her as a child, resulting in her being mundane.” 

Isabelle grabs her hand, “I can test your blood, you’ll know exactly what he did.” 

A shiver crawls down her spine at what such a test could reveal. “No thank you.” 

“Mundane or not, she’s our best chance at catching Valentine,” the tall one says. “You’re coming with us.” 

Magnus’s eyes flash gold briefly, “Only if you are to break the accords young Mr. Lightwood. Miss Jenson is my guest and has done nothing illegal to mandate a trip to your institute.” 

His eyes narrow, “We’ll be keeping an eye on Miss _Morgenstern_ to make sure she doesn’t follow her father’s footsteps.” 

Clary pales, nails digging into her palms. That she would _ever_ side with such a monster-

“Come on Alec, let’s go,” the blonde one says, and the three finally leave. 

She turns to Magnus with a frown, “Are all shadowhunters like that?” 

She expects a rueful agreement, not a diplomatic answer. “Their manners are lacking due to Valentine’s return. There are many good and bad shadowhunters, and mediocre ones that only enable the bad. Much like mundanes I expect.” 

Clary nods, hiding her surprise. She thought of all downworlders the warlocks would be most likely to be firmly in the purely pro-downworlders camp. Between their birthrates being so low, child murder rates high, and a recent attempt at extermination- she thought they’d be more desperate to put warlocks before all others. 

Magnus Bane: respectable, but not yet ready for revolution. 

.

Meliorn disagrees with her conclusion. 

“Bane has never seen a world where the downworlders are not the downtrodden. He plans around the shadowhunters- and he’s wise to do so. Many other warlock leaders would have had them on the brink of extinction.”

Lysa ponders, stirring her mug of hot cocoa. “You think if Magnus knew everyone was teaming up with the seelies, he’d be in.” 

Meliorn shakes his head. 

“No,” Lysa murmurs, and thinks of Madzie. “If the Queen gave protection to all warlocks, he would join.” 

“Precisely.” 

.

Lysa is enjoying a drink at Hunter’s Moon and pretending she hasn’t noticed the two shadowhunters tailing her. Simon isn’t here, but she spotted a flyer and apparently he’s in a band that will perform on Friday.

Magnus sitting beside her actually is a surprise- the warlock’s quiet when he wants to be. 

“You left this in a neck,” he says, handing over her throwing knife. 

Lysa slips it up her sleeve, there’s no point in pretending it isn’t hers or she doesn’t know how to use it now. 

“I appreciate you returning it.” 

“An unusual skill,” he remarks, asking Maia for two of her new special drinks. 

“My Dad,” Clary swallows, blinks unnecessarily. “My _real_ Dad, he taught me. He wanted me to be safe wherever I went.” 

“And why come to New York?” he asks. 

Clary shrugs, “I dunno. It probably sounds silly, but I’ve always felt like I was drawn here.” 

Maia brings them a pair of bright purple drinks, and she says they look great before turning to Magnus. “Why did you come here? Warlocks are immortal right?” 

He shakes a hand, golden bangles jingling. “It’s a long boring story, ask me something else.” 

Clary snorts disbelieveing, “Well, you knew my birth mother right? What is she like?” 

“Was,” Magnus corrects gently. “She was a passionate soul, she escaped Valentine when she realized what he wanted to do. It’s said she took one of his best weapons, and her lover Dot. She and the warlock went deep into hiding. 

“They survived a year, long enough to get you to safety. I tracked them down when I stopped feeling Dot’s magic.” 

The rest he doesn’t have to say, and Lysa can’t help but wonder when she was taken- from Jocelyn or whatever foster home she found. She isn’t sure what bits of her past is real, but it isn’t supposed to matter- it never did before. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she says stiltedly. “I’m going to go freshen up.” 

Magnus nods, patting her hand. 

She goes to the bathroom, stopping in the dim hallway and thanking the surprisingly good acoustics in the area that she can hear the two shadowhunters talking. 

“-she’s _lying_. Shadowhunters don’t feel a pull.” 

“We don’t know what she is Alec. The experiments Valentine might have done? All we know is she’s more mundane than shadowhunter.” 

“There’s something about her I don’t like.” 

“You don’t like anyone,” the other one jokes, and Lysa’s sure it’s the blond one. 

“She said something weird to the bartender at Pandemonium. Said she’d lived through centuries and didn’t have an id.” 

He barks out a laugh, “No way an underage kid making up a ridiculous excuse to get alcohol.” 

“You didn’t hear the way she said it- she said it just like an immortal would.” 

_Fuck_ , Lysa curses in her head. 

Luckily the blond doesn’t seem to be buying it, “We just heard proof she’s Valentine’s daughter. That makes her eighteen years old, maybe nineteen tops.”

“I want Izzy to do a blood test.” 

Lysa sighs, going in to rinse her hands before heading back to the bar. She’ll have to be careful that no one sneaks her blood now- she has a feeling the shadowhunters wouldn’t mind ‘accidentally’ breaking a few rules to get answers. 

.

“You know how you’ve erred,” Meliorn says simply after her retelling. “Do you know how to correct it?” 

“Kill Valentine.” 

Amusement sparkles in his eyes, “Death isn’t the answer to everything. You spent too much time with Samuel.” 

“It’ll prove once and for all that I’m not his pawn,” Lysa says. 

“You just want to kill him.” 

“Of course I do!” she snaps. Lysa takes a slow breath, forcing her heart rate back to normal. “I cannot keep playing spy knowing that my birth father is out there planning or attempting another genocide.”

“What do you need?” Meliorn asks. 

“A warlock, one I trust enough with my blood to track Valentine. Magnus.” 

“Not Madzie or Iris? Both owe you a debt,” he says. 

Lysa’s lips twist, “Madzie is far too young. And Iris… I don’t know her. I don’t have the time.” 

“What else?” 

She frowns, playing with her smallest knife. “The two of us can do it. Middle of the night so he’s more likely to be alone.” 

“Think about after, what else do you need?” 

“Maia, it’ll give her the leverage to take over the pack. And a vampire.” Lysa frowns, “I haven’t met enough, none that will work.” 

“Once you have Magnus- _before_ Maia- go to the Hotel Dumort. Camille will likely send a disposable underling in her place.” 

“And you,” Lysa finishes. 

“Because?” Meliorn prompts. 

“It’ll be obvious if I have a representative from every major downworlder group except one,” she says.

“No.” 

“…I don’t understand,” Lysa confesses. 

“The Queen would never accept me going on such a risky mission unless she engineered it, the others will know that. Should they ask, I refused.” 

Her lips quirk, “I know, you did a moment ago.” 

“Cheeky.” 

.

Recruitment goes nearly as they expected. Magnus agrees on the condition that they’re bringing backup and not going alone, and he even suggests a vampire so she doesn’t have to. 

The Dumort feels icy cold, not a single creature nearby. It’s how Meliorn’s tent felt in the very beginning, and she supposes he may have been telling the whole truth. 

Camille is smaller than she expected, stunning and abrasive. 

“So it’s true,” she says looking Clary over. “The prodigal daughter has returned.” 

“Are you going to help us kill him or not?” Clary snaps. 

Camille raises an eyebrow, Magnus shrugs, and her laugh echoes eerily around the large room. 

“But of course,” she says, linking an arm through hers. “Have you given any thought to living forever?” 

Lysa chokes at how close it hits to home, but Camille doesn’t take it that way, her smile pointy. 

“Trust me, it’s much more fun on the bloodier side of the fence.” 

“We have one more stop before our little excursion,” Magnus interrupts. 

Camille’s eyes flick between them, “You don’t think the three of us can take one measly shadowhunter?” 

“Not if his guard is with him,” Clary says. 

Magnus nods, “We only have one surprise attack. If we fail, Valentine will force a warlock to ward against this spell.” 

Camille’s eyes narrow, “It isn’t one of your smelly dog friends is it?” 

Magnus only smiles, and Camille groans, grumbling about wet dogs and fleas. 

Maia turns the bar over to Gretel, giving her girlfriend a kiss before leaving with them. The parking lot is deserted- somehow it became two in the morning without any notice- and Magnus begins the spell. 

“Blood,” he says, and in a fluid stroke, Lysa slices down an arm. Magic curls the blood into a ribbon, the ribbon coiling into a growing oval, magic sparkling within. The entire portal has a bloody hue, unsurprising but still unnerving. 

“Clary you must go first, the rest of us will follow. If you can wait to attack.”

She nods, and Maia bumps her shoulder. Pulling out her two favorite knives, Lysa walks through the portal. 

Valentine is sleeping. 

There’s no honor in killing a sleeping man, but there’s less in being overconfident and letting him go. Lysa slinks over to the bed, stabs him quickly before he can move. 

Eyes shoot open in pain, a strangled, “Jocelyn?” 

“Family that harms must be removed,” she recites, and slits his throat. 

An alarm goes off then, and ah, Magnus must have guessed something like that would be connected to Valentine’s life force. The three come through the portal just as Valentine’s personal guards burst in, magic and blades and claws clashing all over the room. 

The gory portal has collapsed, a pool of blood on the ground that Lysa _needs_ to clean up. 

…or ruin. 

A missed step and the guard’s right where she wants him- over her pool of blood. She kills him quick, pretending not to have noticed the others are trying to keep theirs alive. Well, Magnus and Maia are. Camille’s grin is bloody, and with a shiver, Clary imagines her and Kaelie meeting. 

The last two guards are knocked unconscious, and Magnus summons a portal. 

“Quickly before real reinforcements show up,” he says, and pairing up to carry the guards, they go through. Maia and Clary get the heavier one, and Clary doesn’t mind when they happen to drop him on Magnus’s hardwood floors. 

Magnus and Camille come through a moment later, Camille tossing the guard on top of the other as Magnus closes the portal. He sends the two to the Clave with a short note, and Lysa doesn’t care, can’t stop grinning. 

She feels weightless, her obligation complete. Valentine can’t hurt anyone else and she’s set the board for her Queen. 

“A toast!” Magnus exclaims, summoning a bottle of bubbly and four glasses. 

“To his death, may the rest of the Circle fall with him,” Camille says. 

“To a brighter future,” Maia adds. 

“To revolution,” Clary says. 

“To us!” Magnus ends on a lighter note, and the four drink. 

By the time they finish the bottle, dawn is approaching and all of them are exhausted. Camille hurries home to miss the sun’s burning rays, and Maia walks home, whistling the whole way. 

Magnus pulls her aside before she can leave, eyes bright. “You never say thank you.” 

A sobering chill crawls down her spine, a nervous laugh on her lips. Old behaviors, Meliorn had warned her, and she had avoided small debts to those that wouldn’t even know to call them in.

“And the way you fight- no mundane fights like that.” He tugs a hand through his hair, “I keep coming to the same conclusion, but I don’t want to believe it.” 

“Then don’t.”

“I knew you, once as a babe. All innocent and young- there’s none of that left in you.” 

Lysa sets down her glass, tries to keep her face soft. “You’ve been drinking, you’re thrilled with Valentine’s death. We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

Magnus waves her off, his parting words at her back, “The pretty boy shadowhunter was right.”

And his bitter laughter chases her all the way to Meliorn’s. 

.

“Magnus knows,” is the first thing Lysa says upon entering. 

Meliorn looks her over quickly, getting some bandages out. “And Valentine?” 

“Dead. I’m sorry- I should have been more careful, it was from not saying thank you. Damn mundane false manners.” 

“We’ll deal with it, let me look at your shoulder,” he says. 

Lysa had forgotten until then that she was wounded, peeling off her jacket. The shoulder and arm have to be torn away, tacky with blood. 

“I wanted to bring Magnus into the fold early for the next step anyways. The Queen won’t be pleased, but you’ll bring her Simon.”

Lysa nods, washing her arm and shoulder with the wet towel he hands her. “He has a concert in a few days, I’ll befriend him there.”

“The shadowhunters will make some empty gesture for you four, you will accept everything gracefully. Remember you are not bound to their laws.”

Lysa’s eyes snap up, “You think they’d tear down a shiny new hero so fast?”

“Valentine’s daughter and someone they don’t know how to control? Absolutely.”

Meliorn takes over when she starts wrapping her own bandages sloppily, ears burning. His fingers skim over her skin, the barest of touches. 

“Unnecessary,” he says about her shoulder. “Foolish,” is for her arm. She can’t debate either, moreover she doesn’t care to. 

Her lips twist, “I thought all victorious battle wounds were well earned?” 

Meliorn rolls his eyes, “The Queen already knows you will bleed for her. Well earned and foolish are not incompatible.” 

“You were supposed to teach me everything left,” Lysa says, the blood loss making her bold. 

“Oh?” Meliorn asks, mouth quirking. 

It’s a pretty mouth, only a breath away, and Lysa leans in to kiss him. 

Meliorn doesn’t move, lips still and Lysa backs off flushed. She read everything completely wrong, she wouldn’t be able to meet his eyes for centuries-

“Unpracticed,” he says. “We’ll have to fix that.”

Lysa grins, and butterflies swirling around them, Meliorn kisses her.


End file.
